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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25794256">Part-Time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verbo/pseuds/Verbo'>Verbo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games), Grand Theft Auto V</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1980s, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Pining, Rough Sex, Self-Indulgent as all hell, they're all seniors and of-age I hope everyone knows that</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:29:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,959</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25794256</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verbo/pseuds/Verbo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>August, 1986</p><p>  <em>Mikey needs a ride,<br/>he's way too drunk to drive<br/>But oh, he's such a sight to see</em></p><p>  <em>Mandy is the problem<br/>He's been tryin' to solve<br/>Someone needs to set him free</em></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Amanda De Santa/Michael De Santa, Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Part-Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Trevor!”</p><p><em>"Trevor, pick up the phone!</em>”</p><p>Springs groaned as Trevor rolled over and pulled the flimsy sheet over his head, hoping he was just hearing things and knowing that things were going to get very bad for him if he was wrong.</p><p>A slamming against his bedroom door, fit to blow it off the hinges, answered his question; the door survived, but the stuff on his dresser wasn’t so lucky. </p><p>"TREVOR PHILIPS PICK UP THE GODDAMN PHONE OR SO HELP ME-" </p><p>"<em>For fuck's sake, alright, ALRIGHT!</em>"</p><p>Trevor covered one ear against the shrill onslaught of <em> well-I-never</em>-s and <em> when-I-was-your-age</em>-s and shoved the phone line into the wall with the other hand. He snatched the receiver off the stand, though of course he fumbled it, which was pretty fitting considering it was one of those novelty football-shaped ones.</p><p>"Dude, I gave you a phone so I wouldn't have to talk to your mom."</p><p>Great. He sounded drunk. Not sloppy drunk, but enough that it blended his words together.</p><p>"You gave me a phone because it came free when you subscribed to Suppressed Homosexual Urges Monthly. It stays unplugged anyway."</p><p>"Sports Illustrated," Michael corrected, sounding put-out. Then, genuinely curious, "You don't plug it in? Then what's the point of-"</p><p>"So my fucking secretary can field your all-important 1am phonecalls, Mikey, what else?" Trevor didn't bother hiding his irritation. Michael was too far gone to notice anyway. "So what'll it be tonight? Need your chemistry homework done for you? I told you, that don't come cheap. Especially since you're on salt analysis."</p><p>"I'm at Connor's party, and I was wondering if..."</p><p>Michael wouldn't say it, because he wouldn’t debase himself by asking for a favor. Especially a favor from Trevor.</p><p>"I don't know if you'll recall in your soused-up state, but I was very explicitly not invited to that party." Trevor sat back against the wall, resting his eyes but in no danger of going back to sleep now. "Just get your girlfriend to drive you."</p><p>The line was so quiet for a moment that Trevor wondered whether it'd gone dead. It dawned on him then that Amanda may have been the reason Michael was calling.</p><p>"T, can you just-" Michael paused, and Trevor could perfectly envision him swaying, groping for the wall to steady himself. "Can you just come get me, bro, because I gotta get the hell outta here."</p><p>Yep. Definitely Amanda.</p><p>"You didn't say the magic word."</p><p>"Fuck you."</p><p>"You got it," Trevor grumbled to the dial tone.</p><p>His mother was already asleep in front of the TV when he threw on yesterday’s clothes and ventured cautiously into the living room. He stepped over the spilled Deludamol, checked that she was breathing, and covered her with the ratty blanket from the back of the couch. That same droning dial tone sounded from the floor, where she’d been listening on the other line. She wouldn’t have asked where Trevor was going anyway.</p><p>Trevor dragged his sluggish limbs to his truck, trying not to think about what he was doing too much, because if he thought about that too much, he'd realize what a stupid thing he was doing and how, if he had any dignity, any self-respect at all, he'd go right back inside, maybe jerk off, and go back to sleep. </p><p>Because, and this knowledge was heavy, Michael didn’t call Trevor because he's Trevor. Michael called Trevor because Michael needed something and Trevor was too dense to say no. Dense, enamored, whatever. As much as Trevor hated Michael for that, Trevor hated himself tenfold.</p><p>The hate skyrocketed to atmospheric proportions when he pulled up to the unassuming little midwestern split-level, completely unremarkable save for the twenty-plus cars jammed into its driveway and a quarter of a mile down the street on either side.</p><p>Trevor sat there staring at it and gnawing his cuticles until they bled and just fucking <em> despising </em> it, tried to set it on fire with his mind, but there'd be no teenage barbeque on the news tonight. Only about a dozen police reports from robe’d and curler'd neighbors who probably hated these kids at least as much as Trevor did.</p><p>He hiked up the perfectly-maintained grass, where some kid was trying to dig a lawn dart out of his leg. His buddies were too preoccupied with standing around and wheezing with laughter to notice Trevor go by. All the better.</p><p>"Hey, man," said some stoner kid standing next to the front door, blazed out of his mind and loving it. He held out a knapsack. "Keys in here, bro."</p><p><em> Every obstacle is a sign from the universe, </em> Trevor thought, but he shoved past the bleary-eyed keymaster anyway with a growled "I'm not your fucking bro, <em> bro</em>."</p><p>As wild as things were out on the lawn, things had reached a full-blown fever pitch inside. </p><p>The second Trevor's sullied boots touched the fancy, freshly-waxed parquet floor, heads were turning his way from all over, eyes narrowing to disapproving slits and hands flying to mouths flying to ears. </p><p>Trevor elbowed his way through the wall-to-wall crowd towards the relative calm of the kitchen, only having one drink "accidentally" spilled on him in the process by some pricks in backwards ball caps, guffawing and high-fiving, that Trevor recognized as a few of Michael's teammates.</p><p>"You guys should just blow each other already," Trevor sneered, wringing the beer out of his shirtfront. "You can't catch a ball for shit, but I'm sure you could catch a load, no problem."</p><p>It took a minute for the rusted gears to grind together behind the blonde jock's swimmy eyes, but when they did, oh boy, what a comeback: "Fuck you, Philips, fuckin' fag."</p><p>His hamhock hands were fisted in the front of Trevor's soggy shirt before his slightly less inebriated friend stepped in.</p><p>"Dude, this is my girlfriend's parents' house, knock it off."</p><p>Blondie looked between Trevor and his friend before lowering the former's boots back to the floor. Trevor was a little disappointed.</p><p>"You got fuckin' lucky, Philips."</p><p>"Aww, next time, then, huh, sweetheart?"</p><p>Trevor ducked into the kitchen, not interested in losing any teeth tonight, trying not to think about how these were the people Michael hung out with. Maybe not people he <em> liked </em>, per se, but Trevor wasn’t sure one was any better than the other.</p><p>"You seen Michael?" he asked the couple making out on the counter.</p><p>"Who?"</p><p>"Townley. Michael fucking Townley."</p><p>"Who?"</p><p>Trevor flipped them off, but they'd already forgotten he was standing there, back to rounding first base. He retreated before they could reach second.</p><p>Trevor was actually on the verge of leaving, actually in danger of making a rational fucking decision when it came to Michael for once, when he spotted the blue and white Townley letterman at the foot of the basement stairs. </p><p>Michael was standing at the edge of a sea of bodies, schmoozing some chick up against the wood-paneled wall. And this chick was hot. Like otherworldly, intergalactic hot, so Trevor was practically vibrating with excitement at getting to pull Michael away from her.</p><p>Trevor grabbed Michael by the collar and hauled him up the stairs amid his uncoordinated swings and protests of "Don't wan' go home". He shoved Trevor off at the top of the stairwell  when he noticed it was him, nearly dropping his beer bottle.</p><p>"Don't fuckin'- don't pull me, bro." </p><p>"Time to go home to your mommy, Mikey-Wikey," Trevor crooned, following the sour-faced quarterback through the back screen door and into the balmy night. Less people that way than going through the front door, Trevor realized. Fewer eyes.</p><p>He tagged along, Michael's silent shadow, down the front hill to the street, watching that cowlick on the top of Michael's head bob in the warm light from the windows. Nice night, if Trevor could use it to get high and maybe set a harmless little dumpster fire or two - but hey, dawn wasn’t for a couple of hours. People called after Michael, raising their plastic cups, ignoring Trevor’s presence altogether - helpful things like "Hey, Townley, forget that slut", and "I told you, man, I <em> told </em> you, they always cheat" that only made Michael duck further and further down into his upturned jacket collar (god, what a douchebag) until he looked like a cheap headless Halloween decoration.</p><p>"Take me to Mandy's," Michael muttered, arms crossed and eye contact nonexistent, when he finally managed to perform the double miracle of climbing into Trevor's truck and fastening his seatbelt. All without spilling his beer. Triple miracle, then.</p><p>Trevor's hands froze at the ignition and he was met with the back of Michael’s head when he shot an incredulous look. "She lives across town and you have an open container in my truck, you fucking meathead. I ain't taking you anywhere besides right the fuck home to sleep it off."</p><p>Michael whipped around and, even through the haze of alcohol, his glare was downright venomous. His words burned Trevor's nose when he spat them. </p><p>"Take. Me. To. Amanda's."</p><p>Trevor turned the key and his self-hatred flared into loathing.</p><p>Michael didn't turn down Trevor's music like he usually did, didn't even try to, keeping his arms tightly crossed and his head firmly against the window for the whole silent car ride to Amanda's tidy suburb. </p><p>"What exactly am I doing here, Mikey, or am I wasting my time even asking?" Trevor dared when they'd turned onto her street. "I ain't waiting around for your little lover's quarrel to be over."</p><p>Michael's arm came out across Trevor's chest when they neared the house in question, and Trevor thought it might touch him. It didn’t. </p><p>"Just drive by, slow. I need to see something."</p><p>Whatever Michael saw, it made him ball up his fists in his lap until they were white as driven snow. Trevor could hear the heavy grinding of immaculate, straight teeth. But Michael didn’t give any further instruction until they reached the next intersection, when he commanded Trevor to turn around.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Just turn around, goddammit!" Michael pounded his fist into his thigh. "She left with Dan and I think that's his fucking Mustang in her driveway."</p><p>Tires squealed, rubber burned, dogs barked. The truck stood alone in the middle of the intersection under the soft orange halo of a streetlight, rumbling and spewing. Michael thought and Trevor waited, would probably always wait.</p><p>"Ram the mailbox."</p><p>"That's the first good idea you've had all night, my friend."</p><p>Trevor floored it, grinning so wide it hurt, and they shot off for the little barn-shaped mailbox that Amanda's mother probably lovingly picked out from some catalogue and made her husband put up. It was bashed magnificently from its post and punted all the way into the neighbor's yard, splinters flying every which way. Trevor howled and thumped his chest.</p><p>The most emotion Michael had shown all night came out in a joyful whoop when he chucked his half-full beer bottle and it exploded in a foamy shower of glittering glass all over the other guy's back windshield. Trevor marveled. A flawless shot, even while he was wasted.</p><p>Trevor thumped the dash with his palm and hollered, "We got the little garden flag too, nice! Two for one!"</p><p>He beamed over at his passenger, who'd returned to the same crossed-armed, tight-lipped sulking. Trevor rolled his eyes.</p><p>"Would sir like to be chauffeured to his residence now, or would he like his humble jester to continue degrading himself for sir's amusement?"</p><p>Michael didn’t answer. Michael didn’t say a word for the rest of the drive, in fact, but Trevor could've sworn he heard him singing under his breath during the "I ain't no goddamn son of a bitch" part when <em> Where Eagles Dare </em> came on.</p><p>Trevor let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding when they crunched up the gravel driveway to a trailer not so different from his.</p><p>Michael wobbled when he tried to make the considerable step down from the truck, and Trevor trudged around to sling a steadying arm under his armpits. The same kind of lumbering pas de deux they'd done dozens of times. Trevor wondered when the day would come that they wouldn't do it anymore.</p><p>He distracted himself with complaining. "Christ, Mikey, lay off the Taco Bomb, wouldya? You gotta find a better coping mechanism."</p><p>"Stop actin' like it's some kinda fuckin'...cross of bears or whatever."</p><p>Trevor scoffs. "Yeah, you're right. This is exactly how I pictured my Friday night. Hefting a bucket of lard with terrible manners up his front steps just so he can-”</p><p>"Then how come you have a boner?"</p><p>Trevor went rigid and silent and that silence was deafening. His throat dried up and his usual river of ready words along with it. Trevor looked away before he could see Michael's look full of accusation and disgust when he inevitably shoved Trevor away.</p><p>"You wish," was all Trevor could manage when he regained his balance, barely audible, eyes on the ground between them. Michael bowled over his words like they weren't even there.</p><p>"I know how you fuckin' look at me," Michael ground out through gritted teeth, "Like you...like you want something from me. Like you want <em> me</em>. Fuckin'...it's fucked up, man.” Then, after a terse moment, quiet again, “Everybody fuckin' knows. They won’t leave me the fuck alone about it."</p><p>"You're so fuckin' delusional," Trevor bit right back, squaring his stance, unwilling to let Michael get to him. "Not even your <em> girlfriend </em> wants your fat ass, as evidenced by her decision to get her daily serving of big dumb jock cock elsewhere."</p><p>Apparently Michael missed the insult or else Trevor would be flat on his back right now.</p><p>"Blake," Michael blurted, still swaying a little on unsteady feet. </p><p>Trevor blinked. "Blake?"</p><p>"Yeah, Blake. Fuckin' Blake Kaufman."</p><p>Nausea mounted in Trevor's stomach. </p><p>"Care to enlighten me on what's going through that thick skull of yours, Mikey, other than the class roster, or-"</p><p>"Everybody knows about you and him. You and him-" Michael belched under his breath "-you tried to hook up with him in the woods behind Darcy's house during that...during that party you crashed last year, 'member?"</p><p>Trevor loathed his inability to speak and how it said more than his words ever could. He just gaped at Michael with all the intelligence of a fucking farm animal right before he sold himself out.</p><p>"How'd you-"</p><p>"Because he fuckin' told everybody." </p><p>Michael had at long last meandered his way over to the front door of his parents' trailer. Trevor considered for the first time since they got there that Mr. and Mrs. Townley might be listening on the other side of it. Ah, fuck it, Mr. Townley already hated Trevor's guts anyway.</p><p>Michael was still rambling. "Of course he did, it's <em> Blake</em>, for crying out loud. Darcy found out he was gonna ask her to prom two months before he even got the idea."</p><p>Trevor snatched Michael's keys from him, unable to watch him flounder any longer. He tried to guide Michael inside, but Michael refused to be touched and pushed past into the empty, cigarette-scented darkness beyond.</p><p>Trevor lagged behind, leaving the keys in the doorknob and the door itself hanging wide open. Michael had stopped in the middle of the living room, standing (with some effort), facing away.</p><p>Trevor tried, "I don't exactly see what that has to do with-"</p><p>"An' he said, he said you tried to give ‘im a…” Michael looked around as though someone besides Trevor would hear. He lowered his voice like some kind of incensed old lady in church. “...<em>a b.j.</em>”</p><p>Trevor hissed through his teeth, as much at the childish euphemism as anything, trembling with rage now. "Oh yeah? That right? Well, that's not what he was fucking saying when he had his fucking dick in my mouth."</p><p>Michael's face closed in on itself. "Dude, fuckin' gross."</p><p>"You're the one who fuckin' brought it up, Jesus Christ!" Trevor heard himself shouting now, his pent-up words cracking the hastily-built dam he put up around them. "I don't get what your fuckin’ point is, but you better make it quick, because I am this close to-”</p><p>Michael matched Trevor’s tone, voice cracking a little from the strain. "I just think it's fuckin' weird, that's all!”</p><p>Breathlessly, Trevor took the most obscene joy in asking, "Then why do you have a boner?"</p><p>Trevor had imagined this very moment a humiliating number of times, and it turned out to be nothing like the whispered confession on bended knee that he’d envisioned (one that he typically imagined happening directly after disposing of Amanda's smoldering corpse). </p><p>It was more like an act of violence. Being no good at that words stuff, Michael pounced, knocked Trevor backwards so hard his head hit the wall. Lights flashed in Trevor’s vision and he snarled, instinct driving him to punch and punch hard, before the knee between his legs and the large palm against his forehead had him pinned.</p><p>Trevor expected Michael's lips to come crashing in any moment, had wanted them to since he first saw Michael's stupid fucking face early Freshman year, wanted them to so fucking much that he might have come just from that. But they never did. </p><p>Michael wrestled Trevor over to the couch, knocked him down onto it. Trevor went willingly, like a demolished building, whether Michael intended to fight him or fuck him, because he was just that ecstatic that Michael was touching him. He leaned up and grabbed for Michael's collar, wanting to pull him closer, needing to kiss him or he'd go insane, but Michael forced Trevor's head down with one big palm.</p><p>The other hand lifted Trevor's grubby t-shirt and tore open the fly of the jeans beneath it in one clumsy yank. Trevor heard something whining, whimpering, and realized it was him. Michael jerked Trevor's jeans down his legs, the stiff denim stinging as it scraped and making Trevor officially fully fucking hard.</p><p>Michael didn't stop to take Trevor in, didn't stop for anything.</p><p>Trevor's mouth started watering uncontrollably when Michael reached into his own jeans and pulled his cock out, so thick and flushed that Trevor choked out an involuntary groan. Michael stroked his dick a couple of times with a rough, inelegant hand and slapped Trevor's hand away when Trevor reached out to touch it.</p><p>Trevor hissed in a breath, his eyes wild. "Ooo, yeah, Mikey, I like it rough."</p><p>Michael's eyes clenched harder and he stopped stroking. "Shut the fuck up," he breathed. "Just shut up."</p><p>Trevor didn’t want this to stop, especially not because he shot off his stupid mouth, so for once, he listened. He lay back and squeezed Michael's hips with his thighs, goading him. They'd been two wounded dogs circling each other for far too long, waiting for the other to make the first move and end the other's suffering. Trevor was thrilled to interdimensional proportions that it was Michael who’d finally gone in for the kill.</p><p>Michael tried to prod his way in, grunted when he met resistance. </p><p>"Christ, it's not a gash, Michael, you gotta fucking get it wet on your own!" Trevor barked. "Oh, nevermind, what the fuck am I saying, you've never gotten anyone <em> wet </em> in your-"</p><p>Michael spit into his palm and thrust into his own hand for a moment, seemingly lost in the sensation (and Trevor lost along with him), before finally, finally, fucking finally prising Trevor’s legs apart and brute-forcing his way inside.</p><p>The dam had already burst, so now, at the critical moment, all the words Trevor had imagined and saved up for this exact occasion were washed away. He gripped Michael's powerful forearms, neck shoved up against the armrest at such an odd angle that he could hardly see Michael's face, and that was no good at all.</p><p>"Michael, fuckfuckfuck-"</p><p>He felt himself stretch at the intrusion, and Michael was too much, too fast, but neither of them did anything to change that. His pace was feverish, bordering on rabid, and he held Trevor’s knees apart with a firm grasp; it made for the perfect angle despite the burning in Trevor’s lower back and Trevor nearly <em> screamed </em>. It prompted Michael, still rutting into him, to shut him up by clamping a hand over his mouth. Trevor bit it.</p><p>Michael didn't moan, barely made a sound, but he didn't have to. His sharp breaths and pained grunts were more than enough noise for Trevor to go on. He'd never be able to explain it, but it felt so good that he couldn't come. </p><p>He saw Michael’s back arch, head fall back, eyes slam shut. His grip on Trevor’s jaw loosened just enough.</p><p>“Come on, Mikey, come on,” Trevor near-whispered, strained and desperate. “Come for me. Wanted to see you do it for so fucking long, Mikey, come for me.”</p><p>Michael did. In a vision that Trevor would never forget, Michael came. Features hardened and tense, Michael pulled out just in time to coat Trevor’s shirt and stomach and his own clenched fist. It was just as good as coming himself, Trevor thought. Better, maybe.</p><p>There was no time to linger in what little dim afterglow there might have been. It seemed like Michael’s soul plowed back into his body after its ‘little death’, because when his eyes flew open, he seemed shocked to see Trevor laying there, jeans hanging off of one boot, dick still very (painfully) hard. </p><p>"Christ, what the fuck did we just <em> do?</em>"</p><p>Trevor propped himself up on his elbows, looking up at Michael through his stringy hair. </p><p>"Well, if I'm not mistaken, you fucked me in the ass until you came and then left me hanging."</p><p>Michael got that very distinct look of someone who's about to be sick. Trevor bucked him off, but Michael was already going anyway; he started pacing immediately, hiking up his pants and scrubbing his palms over his buzzed head. </p><p>"Fuck- god- I- I gotta call Mandy."</p><p>"Ec-fucking-scuse me?” Trevor snarled, feeling every bit like the feral animal that he knew Michael thought he was.</p><p>"What?" Michael demanded, phone already in hand. Trevor could see the seams threatening to burst.</p><p>Trevor stood carefully, pulling his own jeans back into place, jabbing a finger at Michael.</p><p>"She don't wanna talk to you Mikey, she's bangin' some other asshole who, judging by your whiskey-dicked performance just now, is doing a much better job of it."</p><p>Michael's face went completely hollow, the shadows cast across it making him look years too old.</p><p>"Get the fuck out."</p><p>"Mi-"</p><p>Michael slammed the phone back onto the wall hard enough to crack the cheap yellowed plastic and took a threatening step forward. "Go <em> home, </em> Trevor."</p><p>"Mikey, come on, can't I even-"</p><p>For the second time that night, someone’s fists were balled up in Trevor’s shirt.</p><p>"I said, <em> go the fuck home!</em>"</p><p>And Michael pushed Trevor away like Trevor’d spat in his eye. Like he had some kind of fucking disease.</p><p>The seething loathing rose, blanketed the space between them like a dense fog, and Michael actually looked fucking scared, but it was only for a millisecond. Then he gave Trevor a stiff nod full of finality before he turned and went back to the phone.</p><p>And Trevor did leave. He left with Michael’s voice in his ears and Michael’s come staining his shirt and Michael, Michael, <em> Michael. </em> He got in his truck and left and felt the heavy burden of knowing that, when Michael came to his senses, when he called Trevor again next weekend, Trevor would be there, because Michael would still need him, because Trevor would still be a complete and utter fucking fool, and because Trevor would still be in love.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This woke me up at 3am last week and forced me to write it in one sitting, so forgive any flaws that arise from...that.</p><p>Inspired by the song "Susie Save Your Love" by Allie X.</p><p>I just happened to post it on <a href="https://a-shipping-life.tumblr.com/">a-shipping-life</a>'s birthday and they asked for Trikey, soooo :)))) Hope this makes you smile, my talented and kind friend!</p><p>As always, please let me know what you think, how you feel, what's good and what's not. Thank you for reading &lt;3</p><p>(Please check out my other GTA V stories, and my <a href="https://verbos-fanblog.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> as well! I love making new friends :)))</p></blockquote></div></div>
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